


Adrestia VII

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Crest Powers as the Force, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sith doing Sith things, Some OCs doing things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-01-22 15:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Requires no knowledge of SWTOR to enjoy! Just stealing the setting.Ferdinand von Aegir, Lord of the Sith, has been assigned to give Edelgard von Hresvelg, Lord of the Sith and Governor of Adrestia VII a hand. No really, his job is to make her life easier, ensure she doesn't die horribly and all around see to it that her goal of diminishing the power of the Sith and the noble houses is a success.He doesn't blame her for not believing him. Her or her dark, broody retainer.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me? With another SW AU? More likely than you'd think!
> 
> Same universe as [Coincidence (FE3h/SWTOR)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682317) and [Legacies(SWTOR)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/250357), but is a self-contained story, so those aren't required reading by any means!
> 
> Have only vague knowledge about SW and even less about SWTOR? 
> 
> Sith = dark wizards, more likely to kill each other than anyone else
> 
> Jedi = supposedly the good guys, I guess
> 
> Darth = a rank of Sith, top brass lads
> 
> The Dark Side = Evil(tm) magic; using it causes physical corruption (eyes turning yellow, then red, skin going pale, then black, etc)
> 
> There you go. That's all you need.

Adrestia is a nice planet. Objectively, as Ferdinand is proud of saying. It has fields full of food and mines full of precious metals. Temperatures were stable at the equator and most of it had four seasons with sky-blocking cities in the most inhospitable areas. He hadn’t been on world since he was all of ten years old and covered in hand-shaped bruises. Now, at thirty-five, he the only discoloration on his skin were the strong, red lines of Cichol on his face.

Even though his robes are richly colored in red and blue with gold ornamentation, the spaceport staff bow and scrape, murmuring fearful ‘my lord’s under their breaths. “Thank you for your assistance; this is truly unnecessary.” They ignore his platitudes, but Ferdinand is used to it. He is a Lord of the Sith, after all. No one would dare show him anything less than the utmost respect on an Imperial world. He accepts the groveling with grace and steps out of the spaceport and into the sunlight.

It’s warm across his skin, like a familiar brush of Force. He feels home in a way he never does on Sarkhai, despite his master’s best attempts. It’s more than good luck, he knows, that gave Ferdinand a master that cares for his health and wellbeing. Something in the Force cried out for balance: maybe his bruises, or his bastard sister’s tear-stained face. Whatever it was, he was finally in a position to pay it back, to bring balance with his own hands and gift.

In the loading area, the near-empty one reserved for celebrities, official and Sith, sits a single speeder. Though speeder is hardly a suitable word for it. It’s the size of a small, Cartel mobile party and armored like it belongs on Balmorra. Nevertheless, Ferdinand approaches it without hesitation. He’s confident in his skills, even if his master is more sorcerer than warrior. At his hip, his lightsaber is a reassuring weight, the crystal ready to spawn a blade as vibrant and orange as his hair.

Next to the vehicle is a tall man, human though certainly with Sith Purebloods in his ancestry with the sunkeness of his cheeks and the sharp, jutting edges of his jaw. His skin is pale and devastatingly washed-out against the black of his uniform. It’s not an Imperial one, at least not military; it has sharp lines and a long cape, silver fastenings and no device to note who he serves.

“You must be Lord Edelgard’s valet.”

With a sniff, the man flicks his head toward the vehicle, his long, black fringe sliding to cover his right eye. “Her Lordship awaits you.” His voice is deep and smooth, if edged with resentment.

It’s almost refreshing. 

The door opens at a touch of his hand and Ferdinand ducks as he enters. The inside isn’t as spacious as it appears from the outside. The interior is lined with screens and a holounit takes pride of place in the floor. Ferdinand edges around it until he is face to face with Lord Edelgard.

She’s about the height of his master - a head shorter than himself - though none the less imposing for her stature. Her hair is as white as an Echani’s, but her eyes are the uncanny purple of a bleached human’s eye. The mark of Seiros is a ghost of a blush on her face, rather than the bold red it should be; Ferdinand isn’t foolish enough to comment. He bows, more than necessary, but not so far as to tell her he’s afraid. 

He straightens with a flourish and throws his long hair over his shoulder. “Lord Governor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Ferdinand von Aegir, Lord of the Sith and Adrestian native, like yourself.”

Her lips are a colorless line. She bows as shallowly as politeness, and the fear of a saber to the chest, allows. “Welcome home, Lord Aegir.”

“Ferdinand, please.”

“As you like.” She turns from him to her valet, who closes the vehicle door behind him. “Hubert, will the councillors be available to meet… Ferdinand?”

“They will be waiting after tea in the capitol building.”

“Wonderful.” She claps her hands together. She wears white gloves, though given the smoothness of her face, it is unlikely they hide Sith Corruption. “Ferdinand, this is Hubert von Vestra, my assistant. Hubert, as you know, Ferdinand will be… observing the governance of Adrestia for the foreseeable future.” 

Hubert bows, but says nothing. No interest flickers in his green eyes before he turns back to Edelgard. “Shall we be on our way, your lordship?”

“Please. Thank you.” She takes a seat near the holounit and gestures for Ferdinand to do the same. “Your dossier said you were Adrestian and, of course, I recognize the name Aegir, though I had believed your family to have… Left Adrestia some time ago.”

Ferdinand folds his hands in his lap. The smile he aims at her is wane, hinting at pain she surely knew. “My master decided to recruit me directly from the source. As the case may be, my family did not survive the encounter.” She doesn’t need to know that life is better with his master, didn’t need to know it was only his father who died, that his siblings, half and full, are living safely in a hidden manor in the outer rim.

“Ah, yes, that would explain it. I should have known.” She traces the blush-pink line on her nose, a practiced gesture. “The old houses have a way of sticking around. Nevertheless, you will see everything is running smoothly here on Adrestia.”

“Of course, Lord Edelgard. My assignment here is by no means a criticism of your rule.”

Her smile says she doesn’t believe him. “Of course.”

But Sith aren’t in the habit of making things  _ better  _ for the general public, so she can’t be faulted for her suspicion. Ferdinand does not let it bother him, instead turning his brightest smile on her. “Darth Cerpaent,” he doesn’t even try the ridiculous, ‘proper,’ pronunciation and just says it as ‘serpent,’ “simply wanted your operations to move as smoothly as possible.”

The temperature drops another degree. Edelgard tilts her head slightly to the side. “As you will no doubt see, Hubert does a fine job of that.”

“Of course, but as a Force-blind-”

“He is not deficient in any area,” Edelgard’s voice cuts like a knife. To deny the superiority of the Sith in such a fashion is a hair’s breadth from treason. 

If Ferdinand had been a proper Sith, the defensive comment would have signed Edelgard’s death warrant. Perhaps she believes she could kill him before he could report her. That is more likely than the possibility that she was simply so careless as to let her mask slip in front of him, countryman or no. With a practiced shift of his thoughts, Ferdinand drapes himself in a protective cloak of Force. Nothing so overt as invisibility, of course, or so rude as to make his silhouette blur, but he would have a few seconds on any physical attacks. His mental defenses are second to none, for a human that favors martial training.

“In that case, I look forward to seeing the fruits of his labor.” He leans into the stiff cushion. “Is there still an opera in Enbarr? I saw a show in my youth and it haunts my dreams to this day.”

Edelgard’s face twists in raw surprise that matches the tone of her cascade laughter. “Opera? I- Yes. Yes, the Mittelfrank Opera Company still holds pride of place in the capital.” She covers her laugh with a gloved hand. “Of all the things to haunt you.”

He grins with rakish charm his propriety would never let him live up to. “Of course there’s the blood and sorcery we all see in the dead of night, but no point of speaking on it in such knowledgeable company.”

A shadow crosses her face again, a purposeful slip, lulling him into a false sense of security. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

They discussed different operas for the rest of the ride. Despite living her entire life on Adrestia, minus Sith training, of course, Edelgard is surprisingly familiar with Kaasian productions. She has never seen a production of The Seven Sisters, but promises to check the holonet for tickets as the vehicle slows. She steps onto the walkway leading to the capitol building. Hubert stands at the door, ensuring her robes do not catch.

Ferdinand passes him with a nod and a smile. As his first foot touches the pavement, a warning rings out in the Force. He primes his left arm, concentrating his Life Force around his forearm to block the blow, but at the last moment, a second warning echoes in his chest and he dives for the ground. He rolls to his feet, lightsaber already lit in his right hand. Hubert doesn’t have time to sheath the black, cursed dagger. He can feel Edelgard behind him, pushes his consciousness back to her, but her mind reflects only sharp observational curiosity.

Trusting she won’t step in unless he attacks her retainer, Ferdinand deactivates his lightsaber and returns it to his belt. Dust clings to his robes from his tumble and he brushes it off. He smiles at Hubert, whose eyes are still narrowed in concentration. “Goodness, what a terrible accident that would have been.”

The dagger disappears. No surprise touches Hubert’s sharp features. “Indeed. Your reflexes are quite good, von Aegir.”

It’s a slight. A large one, but the man had tried to kill him a moment before, so, really, leaving off his title is meaningless. Besides, he likes proper Adrestian formalities over Imperial ones. “Thank you.” He turns to Edelgard. “Please pardon the excitement. Hopefully we are not terribly late to tea.”

“Not at all.” Edelgard takes his arm and they walk inside together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only stuff you'd get from Legacies that in any way reflects on this story, is additional BG knowledge on minor OCs and some of my headcanons for Echani and Mandalorians that may or may not come up in this. It's really only suggested reading if you find my writing captivating and desperately want more before I post the next chapter. (In which case I also suggest [Bad Things Happen Bingo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741174) (FE3H))


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I drew Sith!Ferdinand! [Check it out here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/duveraun/status/1191286277519396864?s=20)

Tea is a subdued brag. The tea blend is from Uphrades, a Republic agricultural world with no outside trade. Of course, Ferdinand recognizes it because his master’s wife drinks only the best. The skin around Edelgard’s eyes tightens when he identifies it before she can boast. Her retainer sits separately, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s not even proper Imperial caf, but some local roast his master would roll his eyes at until he illusioned them rolling out of his head.

Sweet Seiros, at ten years old Ferdinand had not been prepared for such illusions. He’d run from the practice room, sprinting until he was hidden underneath his new bed. It had taken Na’li’a in all of her perfect posture and pressed dress and soft hands to coax him out with star-shaped tea cakes and bright green fruit juice. Twenty-five years later, his constitution isn’t much better suited to the life of a Sith, but with the mark of Cichol on his face, there’s nothing he can do to avoid it.

The composition of Edelgard’s council takes him by surprise, but Ferdinand doesn’t let it show on his face. For all that Edelgard’s goals are to limit the power of the Sith and the old nobility, her council is full of them. A woman with the mark of Indech hides her face behind a datapad. A person with the mark of Ceathleann yawns and leans against a man with the device of House Bergliez over his breast. Actually, a second man, slightly older and less loud, also wears the Bergliez device. Then, of course, there’s Vestra haunting the space just behind Edelgard. 

None of the councillors are particularly interested in him, but he doesn’t take offence. He’s already dodged one murder attempt, there are sure to be more before his stay is over. As he’s taken to his lodging, part of Ferdinand wonders if his master is trying to get him killed. It’s unlikely. Na’li’a would never allow her husband to upset Ferdinand’s siblings with his untimely death, but staying alive will certainly keep him on his toes.

A tall building in the heart of Enbarr houses his accommodations. It takes a bioscan and two passcodes to get from the front door to his room halfway up the building. The walls are lined with screens that look like windows showing the countryside. If memory serves, they show Gronder Field, a historic battle site and one of the largest farms in that part of the world. He wonders what Aegir territory looks like. If Edelgard truly thought his family dead, she couldn’t know who owned it. Perhaps that was a detail she left to Hubert.

No fewer than six listening devices hide in the flat, but Ferdinand doesn’t bother removing them. After moving his luggage from the foyer to the bedroom, he fiddles with the comm unit in his office. It’s old tech, at least three generations behind, and squished into the primitive framework Adrestians are so fond of. He uses a hand unit set on the desk to call Lorenz while he imports his contacts to the stationary one.

“Ferdinand! How lovely to hear from you. Settling in already?” The holoimage of Lorenz poses until he realizes that Ferdinand isn’t watching the call. He pouts and brings his teacup to his lips. “And here I thought you’d be too busy sightseeing to call for at least a week.”

“I did grow up here, you remember.”

“Of course, where is my head. You know, I was looking it up, the Gloucesters are originally from Adrestia VII, as well.” Lorenz traces the mark on his face with index finger and thumb. “I thought it worthwhile to research after Sokolov had the nerve to call me nouveau riche! Me!”

“Did he really?”

“He did! The absolute nerve, as if his estate wasn’t bought by his grandfather.” He huffs. “Father immediately sent a summons to Lord Nicolai, of course. We will be satisfied by nothing less than a public apology.”

Ferdinand glanced up from the comm unit. “Be specific with your demands. I heard the twins tend to give announcements without trousers.”

“Those rapscallions!”

“And does the Dark Council care? Of course not. They have an old bloodline, so they can do no wrong. The indignity!”

“That’s why I did the research!” The sound of datapads shuffling around comes through the comm line. “It seems that Adrestia was traditionally ruled by three factions. When the Sith Empire discovered it and introduced space travel, the Empire - the Adrestian Empire - ousted the other two factions.”

“Are you admitting that you family was ousted?”

Lorenz’s jaw hangs open for just too long to be polite. “Von Aegir!”

“I jest. I jest.”

“Nevertheless, my family moved to the Empire proper and  _ before _ Sokolov even fell out of favor in the first place, so those salacious fools have no room to call  _ me _ nouveau riche.”

“None at all.” Ferdinand wonders, not for the first time, how Lorenz made it through Sith training. He made it through by not actually undergoing Sith training, instead being taught in his master’s private estate in Sarkhai. “I will see if I can find evidence of your family here on Adrestia during my stay. For now, I must report in to my master.”

“How fortunate for you that Darth Cerpaent is interested in Adrestia. Far better than this gloomy exile on Balmorra.” Lorenz sighs. “Alas. Well, we shall speak anon.”

After returning the comm unit to his pocket, Ferdinand stands before the holo terminal. He fidgets with his robes, smoothing the lines and knocking off the dust from fiddling with the device. With a suppressed smile, he calls Darth Cerpaent. Except that Darth Cerpaent is dead and the person that answers is Ferdinand’s master in the extravagant, scaled mask and purple robes once owned by the real Darth.

Ferdinand bows at the image, a snicker in the back of his mind, since he knows his master is, in truth, a head shorter than him and nothing like the imposing figure he pretends to be. “Master, I have arrived on Adrestia VII.”

“Has she tried to kill you, yet?”

“Lord Governor Edelgard? Surely not! How could you suggest such a thing?” He waves the accusation away with a grand gesture. “Her lordship has been nothing less than the perfect host.”

“Do not play games with me, dandy.”

Put upon, Ferdinand exaggerates his frown for the transmission. “I will have you know, her assistant only attempted to stab me once. And the tea wasn’t even poisoned.”

His master doesn’t match his levity. “Stab you with what? Clearly they expected it to do the job if the tea wasn’t poisoned.”

“Perhaps her lordship has a sense of decor- There’s no need to glare so, master. You are, as ever, correct. It was a metal dagger. Black-bladed and undoubtedly cursed. Hubert von Vestra, that is the assistant, is a Force blind, but sharp as a varactyl fang. Quite protective of the Lord Governor. He has the kind of loyalty that is not bought through fear.”

“There are many forms of currency.” His master lets the words hang in the air ominously. Actually- 

Ferdinand blinks and a dim haze clears before his eyes even as the shadows retreat back to their proper corners. He plants his hands on his hips. “Are you casting illusions in my office?”

“You are far too flippant. I will not have the time I put into you wasted by your own carelessness.” Despite his words, he cancels the illusion. “And do not think to use this position to slack on your personal research.”

The comment churns in Ferdinand’s mind. He doesn’t have any personal research. None beyond a vague interest in personally handling his territory’s affairs, but he hadn’t mentioned that to his master. ...Though that is rarely necessary. Still, it does not seem the sort of thing his master would couch as such. He files it away to consider later when he isn’t putting on a radio drama for the listening devices. “As you say, Master.” He bows. “Shall I pass your warmest regards onto her lordship?”

His master laughs, affecting a ridiculous hiss to fit his character, and ends the call.

Outside his office, the false windows show a sun that’s only just set. Ferdinand putters in his kitchen, checking the food and creating a mental list of what grocery items to order while he prepares a pot of tea. Despite their plan to kill him, his flat is well-stocked, if not to his personal tastes, but he has lived on Sarkhai too long. He fears the meat will be painfully bland if he can’t tease some Mandalorians into a hunt on-world and sharing their kill.

It’s not particularly likely.

He reviews his datapad. Most of Edelgard’s councillors have sent their reports to him, though one is only a short message. It is from von Hevring, whose face bore the mark of Ceathleann.

_ If you’re still alive in two days, I’ll send you the report. I won’t waste my time putting together files for a dead man. _

It’s so pleasantly straightforward that Ferdinand laughs into his cup. He takes a seat and reviews von Hevring’s dossier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand's Master is an OC from Legacies, so please don't waste your time trying to guess who's beneath the mask! Similar goes for the Sokolovs mentioned in the conversation with Lorenz. 
> 
> The premise for Adrestia VII is that Fodlan (+Brigid) was a singular world on its own. The former Alliance nobles (Gloucester, Riegan, Goneril, etc) joined the Sith Empire proper, the Faerghus nobles went to the Republic (sustaining heavy losses) with the crest-bearer/Force wielders joining the Green Jedi on Corellia, as in Coincidence.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of the story so far :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also drew Sith!Edelgard. [Here on twitter](https://twitter.com/duveraun/status/1192847897206951938?s=20).

The comment about personal research stews in the back of Ferdinand’s mind. There is the mark of Cichol on his face, a legacy said to predate discovery by the Sith Empire, but blood marks have always been the purview of his master’s other apprentices. Though there is the issue of Edelgard’s faded mark of Seiros. Weakness in the Force doesn’t cause a lighter mark, as Lorenz’s nemeses the Sokolov twins prove time and again. Has Edelgard started her war with the old guard with her own blood? It seems like cutting off one’s nose to spite their face, but he doesn’t have any better ideas.

Despite the mystery, his first week back on Adrestia VII goes smoothly. The reports from Edelgard’s councillors are exhaustive, but he doesn’t skim. Whether or not they mean to, they’re testing Ferdinand’s mettle and seeing if he fits into Edelgard’s vision for a new, brighter Adrestia, free of the shadow of the Sith and nobility. Not that it will ever be truly free under the rule of the Sith Emperor, but if she’s crafty and chooses her gubernatorial successors well it will be close.

He has tea with Edelgard every other day and successfully avoids poisoning three times. The fourth time, his sweet tooth betrays him, the eclair more tempting than the whisper of Force warning him of the danger, but either the poison isn’t intended to be deadly or Sarkhai food has given him some level of inoculation because he spends half a day in the refresher being sick before he’s well-enough to call his master and be laughed at.

At the end of the second week, he finds Hubert von Vestra haunting a corner of his flat. He looks out of place with his black uniform and scowl amidst the vases of flowers and screens showing lush countryside. Ferdinand can’t feel him in the Force, but decides not to be bothered by it. He steps behind the real granite counter in his kitchen and starts the kettle. “May I offer you some tea, von Vestra?”

“At this point, I believe it would be best if we dispensed with the formalities.” He stalks across the flat and looms over Ferdinand with his superior height.

With ease gained from years of dealing with his master’s theatrics, Ferdinand ignores it and putters around with his tea setting. The pot is a soft, cream ceramic with a design of overgrown vines with curved thorns and orange flowers. The tea is a matching blend of jungle fruits with a subtle scent and heavy taste. The handles on the teacups are sculpted in the shape of vines. It was a gift from his little half-sister who uses the Force to… somehow be an amazing sculptor. The mechanics of it are lost on him, but he cannot help but admire the results.

When the water is the right temperature, he pours it into the pot and arranges everything on a gilded tray. He carries it into the sitting room, swanning past Hubert as if he isn’t even there. He smiles up from his chair. “Please, take a seat.” He pushes back a second chair with the Force.

Hubert ignores it in favor of pulling out a chair for himself. Despite his cloud of irritation, he treats the furniture kindly and sits with poise. “You have been here long enough, von Aegir. Please assure your master that we are suitably annoyed by his gesture and understand the gravity of his challenge. You seem so terribly accident-prone here. Perhaps the air doesn’t agree with you.”

“The air,” Ferdinand replies tartly, “nearly choked poor Lord Varley during our meeting.”

The corner of Hubert’s mouth twitches down, but not into a full frown. “Bernadetta does not eat blue pastries.”

“She grabbed one in her panic after I introduced myself. Perhaps the air should be more focused in its efforts. I would rather not reschedule the meeting again.”

Swearing under his breath, Hubert types something into a small datapad.

“As I told the Lord Governor, my purpose here is purely benign.” Ferdinand sips his tea. A contented sigh leaves him from the soles of his feet. “As your research has no doubt told you, Darth Cerpaent’s purview is in the realm of, ah, shall we say, purity. With Adrestia VII’s fully human population, he has no business here.”

Hubert’s already-thin eyes narrow to slits and a chill down Ferdinand’s back tells him he’s missed something crucial. Something betrays his surprise because Hubert relaxes into his seat and his mouth curls into a smirk that would only be more menacing if he had fangs and Ferdinand had truly believed himself  _ over _ that particular fear reaction years ago. 

His hands flutter before settling on the calming warmth of his teacup. “Regardless of my master’s intentions, I am more than happy to support Lord Edelgard’s social and political changes here.”

“Of course you are, Lord Ferdinand,” Hubert says. It isn’t sexy, completely the opposite. His name sits between them like an old, scarred shaclaw shell: it appears empty and harmless, but a wicked and clever beast dwells within, waiting to strike.

Ferdinand doesn’t have a response for him. He focuses on his perfectly brewed tea and tries to shrug off the feeling of childish ignorance. He’s not his master’s best apprentice, but he shouldn’t be outwitted by a Force blind. The next time he calls, he will bait Lorenz with snippets of the conversation and see if he says anything enlightening. It’s a better plan than asking his master for answers with his tail between his legs like an akkdog that knows it will be scolded.

“I believe, perhaps,” Hubert stands during his dramatic pause with all of the theatrics of a Sith, “your stay will prove beneficial to us, after all.”

Ferdinand waits for the sound of his front door closing before lowering his teacup to the saucer and putting his face in his hands. He wails into his palms, but only for a moment before taking a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to lose control and start sparking with Force lightning all over his nice flat. 

After stewing in his juices all night, he has no time to prepare for his meeting with Lord Hevring. The mark of Cethleann, according to legend, is tied to the rare Force-healing ability. Rare for the Sith, at any rate. His master is a mind healer, of sorts, and one of their allies is a healer, but non-combatants rarely make it through training, so healers are so rare as to be myth, which begs the question of how von Hevring made it through.

Councillor Caspar von Bergliez lets him into von Hevring’s lounge rather than an aide. He leads Ferdinand to a soft pink couch next to a coffee table. Rather than a proper tea service, there’s a mug of instant tea on a hotplate next to a blindingly magenta canned energy drink and comically oversized water bottle. Caspar sits on the couch with his legs spread wide before chugging a solid third of the water bottle.

Sith Lord Linhardt von Hevring is curled up, asleep on an adjacent arm chair. He looks so young and vulnerable that even the red blood marks on his face can’t bring up Ferdinand’s guard. Perhaps this is how he dies.

“Lin! Wake up! Ferdinand’s here!”

Linhardt stirs, pulling the energy drink into the curtain of his hair before even sitting up. He crosses his legs under him and blinks at Ferdinand as the energy drink goes to work. “You’re still alive.”

“Not for lack of trying on von Vestra’s part.”

Linhardt nods. “Bernie came to see me asking for an antidote for blue pastries. She doesn’t even eat blue pastries.”

“Panic does strange things to all of us,” Ferdinand replies with a smile. “Please forgive my candor, but how is it that you both… Made it through the Sith academy.”

He passes the empty can to Caspar, who crushes it with one hand. After a long yawn, Linhardt meets Ferdinand’s eyes. They’re unnervingly piercing and focused. “The same way you did, I imagine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this AU???
> 
> Also: instant tea on a hotplate? Treason.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience while I've been so terribly ill. While I've been recovering, I've watch The Mandalorian and played Jedi: Fallen Order and I have a big recommendation for both!

He comes alone, but takes no care to avoid surveillance. If von Vestra wants to see the remains for himself, he is welcome to. The old Aegir estate brings back memories and nightmares in equal parts as Ferdinand explores. The gates tower over him, the burnished bronzium as threatening from the outside as it is from the inside. Instead of opening at his speeder’s approach, they loom closed, casting shadows as twisted as the curls in his hair. Ferdinand lifts his right hand and feels the coiled, tense, generations-old Force wards holding the metal stubbornly closed. He pushes a tendril of Force against them, but finds only resisted.

Von Vestra’s cruel smile haunts him. The Aegir estate isn’t the best place to search for the information he needs, but it’s where he must start. A thought that’s more memory than nightmare worms its way to the front of Ferdinand’s mind. Fat, sausage-like fingers flying for the air, aimed for his face, a flash of Force and the blinding sigil of Cichol lingering in the air, protecting him from his father’s wrath.

_ That is rather unnatural,  _ his master had said when he, too, was blocked by it during training.  _ Blood curses were never meant to  _ protect _ the bearer. _

Lorenz’s research had shown that Adrestia’s blood curses were made independently to those found in the Sith Empire - concurrent evolution of sorcery, he’d said, though Ferdinand’s master had only made a considering sound when given the news.  _ But perhaps, _ Ferdinand thinks, staring up at the gates,  _ they aren’t quite so similar as he’d always assumed. _

It feels like drawing on his own Life Force to pull the mark of Cichol to the front of his mind and down the length of his arm to his hand. It hovers like a ghost in the stale until before drifting to the gates. They open with a screech of hinges that would send a lesser man to his knees. As he crosses the threshold, Ferdinand feels vines of power swirl up his legs, latching on with thorns and infusing him with the power of his ancestors. It’s a heady rush and finally explains why his father hadn’t cowered when his master stormed the estate.

Experimentally, he turns his hand over and lets the power bubble into a writhing nest of Force lightning that sparks and scorches the grasses. Letting the power dissipate, Ferdinand leans down and inspects the grass. It’s overgrown, but not twenty-some years overgrown. He closes his eyes and sinks into the wards, into the power held in the estate, and searches for an answer. Droids. Not enough to properly maintain the estate, his master must have torched too many during his extraction for that, but enough to keep the plants and dust from taking over completely.

He’s loathe to release the full, stored power in the estate, but he has plans beyond becoming a garden statue. Ghosts from his past run before him on the path to the main building. He doesn’t have a breath of psychometry, so it’s a thick combination of memory and lingering Force power. The gilded front doors swing out and lamps fizzle with sudden electricity at his approach. It finally occurs to him to shield his mind from the estate and the whispered pain from the past dissipates into smoke that lingers around his boots. 

Ferdinand marches through the smoke and into the library. Datacrons sit on shelves between computer banks. Two computers are reduced to sparking ruins. A glance up reveals that the ceiling fell in at some point, the droids unable to keep up with repairs. He skirts around the broken machines without a spare thought. The information he wants will be in the datacrons, if it exists at all. 

For two days, he sifts through the histories and grimoires uninterrupted. An intruder enters the grounds and he wonders if this is what his father felt when his master arrived so many years ago. Setting aside the Legends of Saint Cichol, he sinks back into the power stored in the estate, deep into the wards until he can feel the trespasser. It is only von Vestra. For a moment, he considers opening the earth beneath his feet and returning Hubert to the soil, but that is the Dark Side talking. Edelgard needs Hubert and thus Ferdinand is better off leaving the man alive.

They meet at the front doors, Ferdinand heedless of the dust that covers him to the elbows. “Hubert von Vestra. Here for a social call?”

“Her Lordship wanted me to ensure nothing unfortunate had befallen you.” He smiles and his mouth is like a gash cut with a razor. 

“The least, and most, I can do is offer you tea. Please, come in.” Ferdinand leads him to the closest sitting room. It’s lined with lavender paper and lit with warm lights. He claps his hands and the dust in the room sloughs off every surface to fall to the floor under the power of his Force. Waving his arms like a conductor, the covers remove themselves from the furniture and dance their way into the servants’ passage with the dust scuttling across the floor beneath them. He turns to von Vestra with a smile. “I’m afraid there’s no food here, after all this time, but a droid will be in shortly with tea.”

Von Vestra doesn’t react to the gaudy show of Force. He stands still until directed to a seat, which he takes without hesitation. He places his hands in his lap. “You didn’t think to bring any food with you?”

Though he’s tempted to make the lights dim and call on his master’s intimidation illusions, Ferdinand only smiles too wide, too bright, just slightly unnaturally. “Surely you know Sith have no need of such trivialities.”

He doesn’t appear unsettled, but von Vestra’s Life Force quakes. “Of course. Her Lordship, of course, finds subsistence to be a waste of her power, considerable though it is.”

“Yes, her power is considerable,” Ferdinand says. He feels it when his words make von Vestra’s heart skip a beat. Perhaps he can feel the overwhelming strength Ferdinand has in his ancestral home. “Which makes me wonder why she seems so attached to a Force Blind such as yourself. The easy answer is a blood slave. With your gangly limbs and sickly pallor, it would only make sense.”

The droid clomps in with a shrill ring of metal feet on tile. It sets an elegant tea service on the table between them and leaves without a word.

Once it’s gone, von Vestra, straightens to his full height and sniffs. “Her Lordship has no need of such barbaric measures.”

“Indeed. Which leads me to believe she has some kind of emotional investment in her pet.” He repeats his earlier smile and lets his eyes transition from warm gold to reptilian yellow. He hates the feeling of Dark Side corruption making the veins on his face pop, but such is the price of a good performance.

Finally, von Vestra tenses, the skin around his eyes going from sallow to pure white. He doesn’t reach for his cursed dagger, but it pulses in the Force with malicious intent. He meets Ferdinand’s eyes with empty fearlessness. “What do you really want, von Aegir?”

“The truth.” He lunges forward in the Force, touches von Vestra’s mind and pulls whatever he can grab back with him. Von Vestra slumps in his chair, falling forward over the tea setting. Ferdinand dances out of the way of the scalding tea and leaves the sitting room. Von Vestra’s thoughts swirl in his mind, muddling his thoughts.

Most prominent is a series of attack plans, all involving the cursed dagger and judicious kicks once Ferdinand is down. But beneath the malice and fear, he finds blood. Blood in splashes, in streaks, in injections under a red sky cut by dragons. Not krayts, but nothing Ferdinand recognizes off hand. He signals for the droids to carry the unconscious man to the gates and returns to the library.

Dragons… Dragons… 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, yes, it's me! I've returned! I wrote some The Mandalorian and Jedi: Fallen Order fics in the meantime if that's your jam. [finger guns]

People truly underestimate the intimidation factor of light, Ferdinand thinks. Lord Edelgard sits across from him, her snow-white hair looking like ice ready to slit his throat. The mark of Seiros on her face is darker than he’s ever seen it and the Force sits heavy and powerful just under her skin. Her eyes stare through him, not with the Force, just the perception required to survive as a Sith. Ferdinand believes he may have… miscalculated in assaulting von Vestra.

“Are you quite satisfied with the information you tore from Hubert’s mind?” Edelgard sips her Uphrades tea as if she’s not furious, measures her words as if they don’t threaten a knife’s edge, flutters her eyelashes because she is in complete control no matter how she feels.

“To be frank with you, no. I have not the faintest idea what dragons have to do with anything. Nothing about you suggests a trophy hunter, so I can only assume it is associated with your primary goal. I fear I cannot relate to having a preoccupation with something ahead of the Sith.” He folds his hands in his lap over the embroidered napkin and questions, not for the first time, what exactly made his master think he was ready for this.

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t meddle in affairs you do not understand, hmm? You come to my home, offering your help of all things, interrogate my staff, assault my friend and think I will just roll over and give you what you want?” Her cheeks flush with a hint of color under her foundation.

“There is no greater danger to our shared people than the Sith, surely you know-”

“I know better than to wage a war on two fronts, Ferdinand. These dragons that you so contemptuously discount have had a chokehold on Adrestia since before the Discovery. Not all of us have had the good luck to galavant off world and ignore the suffering here.” Her hand trembles for a moment, a lost sliver of control quickly locked behind durasteel.

“Galavant! I will have you know, Governor, that my father was slain before my very eyes by a Sith who then kidnapped myself and all of my siblings and dragged us away from everything we had ever known to what? Be forced to learn a foreign language and how to mingle in Sith society without being killed while also scheduled for constant training with a power we never knew we had? And for whose benefit? The very Sith that killed my father?” Ferdinand throws his napkin onto the table between them and lifts his teacup with perfectly practiced ire and disdain. Oh, but he hates being a showman when honesty screams from his very soul.

Edelgard straightens her back and looks down her perfect nose at him. She lifts her chin. “I have seen holos from our childhood, when you visited Enbarr. I have seen the way you flinched from your father’s hand, the way the bruises peaked out of your sleeves. Tell me being taken was not a gift.”

“Then is it so strange I wish the same freedom for my peers?”

They stare at each other, then. Both having revealed too much, but neither having given enough to earn even fickle trust. Their tightrope is long gone, cut when Ferdinand attacked von Vestra. It was a mistake, of course, but he’d been deep in the throes of power from the Aegir estate. He’d underestimated the effect it would have on him and he’d let his Force lash out without thinking it through properly. So it is his fault that relations with Edelgard are in freefall. He well and truly bungled it and doesn’t look forward to his master’s inevitable chiding.

“You want me to believe you?”

“Of course.”

“Prove it.” Edelgard tosses the gauntlet. It is a pair of Force suppression cuffs. Ferdinand knows that before he touches them. 

They have no visible lock, not that they ever do. Ferdinand gingerly picks them up and turns them over in his hands. They’re well made and designed for long-term use with heavy padding. “Just what do you intend for me to do with these?”

Edelgard sips her tea, lets him simmer, before answering. “Wear them, of course. Since you could not stop yourself from, for lack of a better term, lording your power over my dear friend, the only way for you to prove yourself honest and true is to lack that power.”

“Only a fool would agree to this. A fool, or an honest man. I will wear them until you deem me trustworthy and see that I only want what is best for Adrestia.” Ferdinand fiddles with the cuffs and, after a bracing breath, pulls them onto his wrists. They tighten around his flesh and the effect is immediate. It is like all of the air is sucked out of his lungs and he is suddenly boneless, placing a hand on the table to keep from falling to the floor. “Oh dear.”

“Quite,” Edelgard says. “Since you want so dearly to help, you will be aiding Hubert in his duties. Perhaps that will give you the insight you desire.” She smiles and while it’s not the smile of a Sith, it is the look of a pleased predator.

Ferdinand may have made several miscalculations. His master will never let him live this down. He shoves himself back into a sitting position, failing to regain his dignity. “He would have killed me that first day if I had not had the Force on my side.”

“Oh, Hubert knows how to play nice. I suggest you not give him a reason to test you Force-less reflexes.” She stands then and claps her hands. “I’ll have a droid come in and show you to your quarters here in the palace. Do be sure to update your master. I’m certain no one would be happy if he returned trying to take you back the way he did the first time. He’ll find my head is rather fond of my shoulders.”

“If he wanted you dead, we would not be having this conversation.”

“That’s what they all say. Perhaps you had your master’s protection, but I survived Korriban on my own. Never forget that.”


End file.
